Survivors
by jetta.wagner
Summary: I'm basically just writing the canon story with whatever changes and additions I see fit. The beauty of fanfiction
1. PrologueThe Creation

The man laid on the cot, waiting for the heat that had seared through his body for hours...days...weeks...to finally kill him. The constant unbearable heat and pain had muddled his brain. How long had he been laying there? Where was he? What was his name? The answers danced behind his eye, just out of reach. Two large ghost-like creatures stared at him with big vacant black holes for eyes. It didn't bother him though, all they ever did was watch. One held a clipboard and took notes, while the other just stared at him.

The heat began to clear and the pain subsided... What was this? Not an ordinary flu or virus, that's for sure. As his head cleared he began to remember. His name was...was... Oh, what did it matter? He looked up at one of the men wearing white lab coats imploringly. The mask covered the doctor's face, leaving him a cold and emotionless vessel, uncaring. The doctor took more notes.

The man turned his eyes away from the doctor's that wouldn't help him and stared at the wall. With the pain and heat gone, he finally realized how exhausted he was. He started to drift off, so smooth and peaceful. He remembered. He had volunteered to be a test subject for $10,000 to pay for his wife's cancer treatment. It seemed he was going to survive after all and bring home the money that would save his wife's life.

Then, the pain that had ripped apart his mind and his body for who knew how long, blazed back to life, even stronger than before and the man grabbed his skull and screamed. He screamed until there was no life left in him and he collapsed back on the cot, dead.

The doctors murmured to themselves and left the room.

_Test #24, Successful._


	2. Chapter 1The Spread

Carl and Abby Grant

Carl Grant grabbed his wife's last suitcase from the luggage carousel and carried it to the nearby airport cafe where his wife, Abby, was sitting and listening to something on her cell phone with a worried expression. She put the cell phone back in her jacket pocket when she saw him approaching.

"What was that about?" Carl asked, already guessing. It had to be the same thing Abby had been worrying about the entire vacation. He set the suitcase down next to her and took the chair next to her.

"It was a message from Peter," Abby answered her husband, oblivious to his resigned sigh. "He went white water rafting and his canoe capsized! He had to be rescued!" Abby shook her head and took her cell phone out of her pocket again to scan the screen for anything new. Her son's battle with cancer the previous year had left her a perpetually worried mess.

"What are you doing?" Carl asked when she started to type in a number.

"Calling him." She said briefly, it should be obvious by now that all she worried about was her son's well-being.

Carl sighed again. Dealing with Abby's paranoia of the cancer returning to wreak havok on their young son's body was stressful, to say the least. "Well, he's alright, isn't he?"

"Well...yeah, he said he was fine." Abby admitted. "But what if he's cut himself on a rock or something? It could get infected!"

"Abby, you promised you wouldn't make a fuss." Carl pleaded with her, rubbing her forehead. This vacation had not gone as he had planned. "We'll call him this evening like we said, okay?"

Abby sighed and closed the cell phone with a snap. She looked at it for a moment, as if half-expecting it to ring the moment she took her eye of it, and finally put it back in her pocket. She supposed it wouldn't hurt to wait a few hours before calling to make sure he was really alright. Besides, there were people at camp that knew how to care for an injured child. She hoped.

Carl grabbed her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Everything's fine, Ab. I promise."

(Break)

"A flu virus is sweeping across Britain, leaving medical services struggling to meet demands for vaccinations. The government has made no..." Abby turned down the volume of the small kitchen tv set. The news was never anything pleasant lately. She'd invited her neighbor, Cathy, over for a little 'welcome back' drink.

"So how was the trip?" Cathy asked, wiggling her eyebrows. "Was it very romantic?"

Carl entered the room with the drinks and laughed. "You have no idea. It was so beautiful there." He turned and gave Abby a look. "And Abby spent most of the trip in the hotel room talking to Peter on the phone."

Abby laughed dismissively and took two drinks from her husband. She handed one to Cathy. "I was worried about him. It's only been a few months." A frown settled over Abby's face.

Cathy put a hand on Abby's shoulder. "He's alright now, though. I mean, he looks really well." She gave Abby a reassuring smile. Cathy remembered all to well the hardships this family had to face. Visiting Peter in the hospital and seeing the sweet boy hooked up to all those machines was awful for her, she knew it was even more hard on her friend.

"He's in total remission. 100% well." Carl said firmly. "He is a normal, healthy little boy." Carl looked pointedly at Abby, who skillfully avoided his gaze.

"Yes," Abby agreed. "But we'll always have to be careful."

"That doesn't mean we have to treat him like an invalid." Carl said sharply. He sighed. "I'm sick of talking about cancer." The conversation between the three lulled for a moment, letting the background noise of the newscasters, still reporting, take over.

"...drink plently of fluids and _avoid_ contacting a health professional unless in an actual emergency."

"It's mad, this bloody flu business." Cathy said after a moment, breaking the tension in the air. "Nearly half the country's off sick." Her husband Mike had stayed home from work that day due to the flu.

"We should've taken Peter in for a check up before he went..." Abby worried aloud.

"He'll be fine where he is. Miles away from anywhere, best place to be." Carl reassured her. Abby smiled at his attempts to make her less worried and pulled her husband close to kiss his cheek. "I love you."

Carl put his arms around her and hugged her tightly. "I love you, too."

Martha Smith

Martha sat very still while the small girl in front of her struggled to tie the flower bracelet around her wrist. Amy had been quiet all day, as lost in thought as a child of 7 could be. "Mommy's ill." Amy told Martha with a serious expression, giving up on the bracelet.

Martha took the bracelet from the small girl's hand. "A lot of people are ill." Martha told the girl, tieing the flower bracelet around Amy's small wrist.

"You're not." Amy looked up at her through soft blonde hair.

"Neither are you." Martha smiled, trying to cheer her up. "We're lucky, aren't we." Amy looked up from her bracelet and tried to smile at Martha. The flu had already taken most of the children out of school, leaving only about %40 of the children untouched. Martha had never seen such a strong virus, in all her 4 years teaching at the school.

Looking past her, Amy saw the person they'd been waiting for. "Daddy!" Amy jumped up from the grass and ran to her father, who picked her up and hugged her tight.

"Ah, there's my sweet girl! Have you been good for Miss Martha?" He asked, looking to Martha, who stood and gathered Amy's backpack and jacket.

Martha handed them to Amy's father. "She was great. Very well behaved." She smiled.

"Daddy," Amy cupped her dad's face in her small hands, her little face worried. "You're hot."

"I've been running, sweetheart." Amy's father told her, breathing dramatically. Martha gave Amy's father a look over and decided he must have come down with the same flu illness that so many other's had come down with. He was pale and sweaty and he looked tired.

"Well, we've got to get back. Her mum's in bed." Amy's father nodded a goodbye to Martha.

Martha gave a nod back. "There's no school tomorrow. We think it's best if the children stay at home for a few days."

Martha returned to her classroom to gather her belongings and head home. She ran into another teacher on the way out of school, Mrs. Jennings, who also looked tired and pale. "Are you alright, Mrs. Jennings?"

"Oh, yes, I'm fine. i just haven't eaten anything all day." Mrs. Jennings ran a hand across her forehead and rubbed a lump on her arm. Martha subconciously took a step back.

"Well, I better get home. My roommate wasn't feeling too bright this morning." Martha's roommate had left at least 6 messages for her on her cell phone since that morning.

"Yes," Mrs. Jennings said distractedly. "Oh! There'll be an email from the office as soon as we're able to start teaching again."

"Okay, you should get home and get some rest, too." Martha said sympathetically. She considered helping Mrs. Jennings to her car, but thought better of it and turned to leave.

Tom Price

Tom Price walked down the prison hallway, hands uncuffed and a guard by his side. How easy it would be to attack and kill his would-be escort. But Tom did not entertain such ideas, knowing that his remaining 20 years could still be cut back for good behavior and killing this guard would destroy all chances of getting out early.

There were rumors that the lockdown would be permanant, that the people with the flu were all dying and soon no one would be left alive to keep them imprisoned and they would all be left to rot in their cells. Tom and his guard passed by a few men who had madly tried to escape confinement. The remaining guards beat the inmates into submission and threw them into their cells.

As they got closer to Tom's cell, he decided to strike up a conversation. "You can't just lock us all up like this, it's a breach of our human rights."

"So?" His guard, known by the inmates at The Bull, remained expressionless. "Call a lawyer." They reached Tom's cell and stopped in front of it. Tom's cellmate, Lane, was already inside, sitting on his cot like a good little inmate. Tom glared at The Bull for a moment before entering his cell. The Bull closed the cell door and locked it. Tom stared at his through the small window. The Bull held his gaze for a moment and then slammed the hatch down to cover the window.

"You alright, Tom?" Lane asked. "Weird stuff, this, 'innit?"

Tom turned away from the closed window to smirk at Lane. He shook his head and lay down on his cot. "Locked up for God knows 'ow long alone in a cell with you? Yeah, it's a nightmare." He closed his eyes and hoped his nuisance of a cellmate would get the message and leave him alone.

"Most of the guards are off sick." Lane stupidly continued the conversation.

"It's the flu epidemic." Tom said, already bored. "Don't you read the papers?"

"They're saying that inmates with less than 2 years are being released early. Not enough guards to look after all of us." Lane still went on. Lane only had 19 months left to serve. His crime of armed robbery had been given a mild 7 year sentence because of his age. He'd spent the first 2 years in a juvenile detention center. He was 21 now, still young. Still stupid. He'd been Tom's cellmate for almost 6 months now, and he hadn't quite learned when to shut up.

Luckily for Lane, Tom wasn't in the mood to make him shut up. "Who's saying this? 'They'? Don't be stupid. No one's getting out early. You're embarrassing yourself." Tom sighed, and wondered how this flu epidemic would play out. Hopefully to his advantage.

Jane Smarts

Jane Smarts was used to dealing with high priority crisis situations on a daily basis. Her position as a government/media liason demanded it. Still, this European Flu Crisis had sprung up suddenly and violently and showed no signs of slowing down. It worried even her a little bit. Jane strode quickly from a meeting with government officials, followed by her assistant, Mark. "We need to get a press statement out as soon as possible. Tell the media that I am taking personal responsibility for the flu crisis. And _don't_ call it a crisis. Downplay the infection rate, concentrate on the good news. Health professionals doing magnificent jobs, people pulling together to beat the bug. That kind of thing."

Mark took notes. "I'm arranging photo sessions. If we hurrry, we can get a shot of you getting a flu shot on the 6 o'clock news."

Jane nodded approvingly. "Good. The prime minister wants me to be as visible as possible. The need to show we're being proactive."

Mark lowered the notebook. "Your husband called again."

Jane sighed, but still walked with purpose. "I know...we were hoping to get away this weekend." She gave Mark a wry smile, which he returned.

"Well, that's not gonna happen. We're getting more cases by the hour." He gave her an apologetic look.

Jane shook her head. "Jack's going to be disappointed. He booked a hotel and everything."


	3. Chapter 2

2 days later

Carl and Abby Grant

"The European Flu continues to spread throughout the UK. Today government agencies are issuing warning of serious disruptions to all domestic utilities due to high levels of absenteeism caused by sickness."

Abby sighed and decided to call Peter while her husband was distracted by the news on the tv. She left the room and dialed his number. "Hello, Peter?" Abby waited for her son's voice.

"Hi, Mum. I'm having a lot of fun and I'm playing outside a lot." He sounded so faint and far away through the phone. Abby hated not being with him.

"Are you okay? You sound tired." Abby's worry escalated when he didn't answer straight away. She heard him laugh at something someone else said before he answered.

"I'm fine, I've just been busy doing lots of cool things." Peter sounded very much like himself and Abby scolded herself for getting so worried.

"Okay, I'm glad you're having fun then." Abby tried not to sound worried over the phone.

"Well, I gotta go, the guys and I are gonna go hiking now. Love you!" Peter ended the call.

"Bye..." Abby sighed and went back into the kitchen. She found her husband still standing in front of the small tv, watching the news.

"...much of UK's population is now effected by the virulent strain."

"It's crazy, the whole country's just ground to a halt." Carl told her. He turned off the tv when he saw her worried look.

"Peter sounded strange on the phone."

Carl frowned. "Strange? How?"

Abby couldn't describe exactly how, just that overactive motherly instinct. "I don't know...like, he didn't want to talk."  
Carl frowned and turned away. "Maybe he wanted to go out and play."

Abby nodded, and started to head back out of the kitchen. She stopped. "Look, don't be angry with me. I know you hate it when I worry. I just think something was wrong with him." Carl gave her a tired look and Abby sighed. "Okay, I'll stop worrying. I'm going to go upstairs and take a bath to relax." Abby kissed her husband on the cheek and left the kitchen.

Jane Smarts

In the past 2 days, Jane Smarts had only left the building once to shower and change clothes at a hotel. She hadn't even seen her husband and two boys in all that time. The insanity of the European Flu Crisis had only gotten worse since that first day she had been brought in.

Mark handed her a mug of steaming tea and waited only until after she had taken a sip to give her the news. "State of Emergency is still being discussed by the Cabinet."

Jane frowned. "You mean by any member of the Cabinet still standing."

"The Prime Minister is reluctant to put troops on the streets. He feels that should be a last resort."

Jane couldn't believe her ears. "What stage does he think we're at now? I have to get the media more information."

"Just stress that the crisis is unprecedented. There hasn't been an outbreak of this severity since 1918. That kind of thing." Mark offered.

Jane felt a little off her game after so many days without a real good nights sleep. Mark was beginning to do her job for her. "Can I at least announce that the army is on standby?"

Mark handed her a piece of paper. Jane opened it and read it quickly. "What is this?"

"It came from the chief medical people a few minutes ago. Marked strictly confidential. I'm still trying to get clarification."

Jane read the words aloud. "'The impact of the virus is thought to be more severe than early tests indicated. The loss will be deeply regretted.' What does that mean?"

"No one seems to know. All they said was that the implications are very serious."

Abby and Carl Grant

Abby woke in her bathtub feeling exhausted and drained of life. She couldn't remember falling asleep in the tub, just getting in and feeling so tired. Something under her left arm hurt so Abby lifted it, with effort, to inspect. A red sore had appeared just above her armpit and was painful to the touch. Abby would have been more worried if she wasn't so exhausted.

Abby heard the phone ring downstairs and decided to climb out of the tub and get dressed. It could be Peter, after all.

Carl saw the number on the caller id and answered the phone with a smile. "Peter?"

"No, this is the camp director, Harry Brown. I'm called to inform you that your son Peter has fallen ill."

"When was this?" Carl's voice betrayed his worry, he gripped the phone.

"Just a few hours ago." The man over the phone sounded far too calm.

"You should've called us straight away. You know his medical history." Carl saw Abby coming down the stairs.

"Carl, what is it?" Abby asked.

Carl ignored her question, listening to the voice on the phone. "Yes. We'll be there as soon as we can." He hung up the phone. "It's nothing serious. He's just a bit unwell." Carl tried to reassure his increasingly frantic wife.

"I knew it, I just _knew_ something was wrong. Look, we have to go get him now, we have to go get him to the hospital." Abby grew dizzy with worry.

"It's got nothing to do with the cancer, it's the flu." Carl said. _Because that makes it better_, he thought. Carl noticed that his wife was having problems standing, she was swaying a bit, nearly falling. Carl caught her before she hit the ground. "Bloody hell! Your face is on fire, Abby!"

She slapped his hand away, dizzily. "I'm fine, I'm fine. Let's just go and get Peter." She stood up with difficulty and headed toward the door. Carl went after her, knowing she was in no condition to be driving.

About an hour later, and with another two to go, they ran low on gas and had to stop at a crowded 2 pump gas station. "We've got to stop for gas." Carl told his wife.

"Please, let's just keep on going." Abby insisted, not hearing him.

"We're not gonna make it all the way there." Carl said, looking glumly at the long line ahead of them.

"We can get gas somewhere else." Abby said, knowing the line would keep them there for more than an hour.

"If it's this bad, this far out of the city, I can't imagine any place is less crowded." The car at the pump ahead of them moved forward finally. Carl made a desperate decision and pulled out of line and drove past everyone else, drove over the curb and in front of the next car in line. Carl jumped out of the car and went to the pump.

The man who had been next in line got out of his car and stormed over to him. "I've been waiting over an hour!"

"I'm sorry, but it's an emergency. My son, Peter, he's sick."

"Yeah, and who isn't? Look, get in line and wait like everyone else." Carl grabbed for the gas nozzle, but was shoved away by the angry man. "You can't do that! I was here first!"

Carl grappled with the man. "What's wrong with you?"

Abby climbed out of the car and went to the struggling men, feeling suddenly very exhausted. "Carl..." She grabbed for his arm as she fell.

Carl turned to her immediately and caught her. "What's wrong?"

Abby moaned and put a hand to her head. "Oh, I feel like my head is going to explode!"

"Why didn't you say anything?" Carl held onto her tightly, scared for his wife's life. He could feel her burning temperature against his arms.

"Let's just go get Peter." Abby whispered faintly.

"I'm gonna get you home. Get you to a doctor. I'll come back for Peter later." Carl helped her to the car. He added gas before he left, the angry man having backed off nervously when Abby collapsed.

Tom Price

Tom had stopped trying to get any sleep. Lane's pathetic moaning and heavy breathing made it seem like he was running a marathon in the middle of summer. "Tom...I don't feel good. I'm so hot. And my arm, it really hurts." Lane's voice was faint and disoriented.

Tom sighed and got up from his cot. He pounded on the door. "We need help in here!" Tom called. He could hear keys jingling outside the door. Lane moaned and clutched his head.

The door opened a crack and Tom could see The Bull. "What do you want, Price?"

"He's sick." Tom said.

"Everyone's sick." The Bull dismissed.

Tom sighed. "He needs a doctor."

"There is no doctor. He went down with it this morning." The Bull looked sympathetic for a moment. "There's nothing I can do."

Tom looked back at Lane, who had stopped moaning and was scratching a red lump under his arm. "You can't leave me in here with him. I'll catch it as well."

The Bull gave him a look of disdain and hate and slammed the door shut again. Tom sighed and rested his head against the cold metal. He listened to Lane begin to moan again and wondered how long it would last.


End file.
